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Cocteau’s Hands, Photo by Berenice Abbott, 1927

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blackhoody

Ma i loro corpi erano duri e rigidi e ad occhi chiusi lasciavano che avvenisse quanto segretamente accadeva davanti di loro, come se dovessero ignorarlo, e diventavano soltanto sempre più vuoti e stanchi e allora affondavano un poco insieme, leggeri, tranquilli e dolcemente silenziosi, come la morte, quasi si dissanguassero l’uno nell’altro.

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manufav

Non ho che vento nella mani.

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Le parve di essere lontana. Inerte come sotto un coltre silenziosa, venne un attimo gelido in cui udì il proprio io come un piccolo rumore incomprensibile e impallidiva, non restandole altro che il suo corpo da abbandonare.

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